Iron Flowers
by Doctor Burrito
Summary: The world is wrong, and it is up to a band of intrepid heroes to fix it. Along the way, Cecil L. Harvey will get caught up in revolutions, a full scale war for dominion of the Earth, the struggle for humanity's survival and face decisions of the highest consequences. A work in progress, the series will introduce a somewhat fused FF4 and FF6 to more well-known SR series.
1. Chapter 1: The Attack on Mysidia

_**Mysidia, Africa**_

_**The Raid on Mysidia**_

The air reeked of sulfur. Sulfur, laced with something more sinister. The sulfur was the more pleasant smell. Behind it was the sweet smell of the battle field. Whether Mobile Suits, Arm Slaves, Knightmares or Magitek, they always smelled the same when downed. That wretched burning smell of steel eggs with their gooey human center. If one could not cope with the smell of burning flesh, one was not suited to see battle.

And what a battle! The field was strewn with the wreckage of buildings and mecha as far as the eye could see. The streets ran red and black, fuselage and blood flowing freely, impeded only by the casings of bullets expended with a speed proportionate to the lives they snuffed out. Flames danced so high they threatened to burn the moons, and smoke rose like trees in a forest. The battle had begun ten minutes ago. In ten minutes, the enemy defense force, comprised entirely of working-class mecha, had been destroyed, and with them much of their city.

Mysidia, a city-state in sub-Saharan Africa, had the esteemed honor of being the door through which the hounds of war were unleashed. An array of alliances and treaties which had preserved peace for a century of prosperity and recovery throughout much of the Earth Sphere and her colonies was now crumbling to pieces to the sound of tin soldiers, marching through city streets.

The unit, the First Imperial Magitek Corps, of the Royal Baronian Air Force, known as the Red Wings, had been deployed at the behest of Emperor Charles Gestahl Baronia III, emperor of Baronia, an empire which covered roughly a fifth of the world, though much of this was in island-states. Mysidia, as all of Africa and most of Western Europe, belonged to the mighty European Union. The other major players on the board where the Empire of China, the Soviet Union and the United States of America. Together, the Big Five formed the Earth Federation. Emperor Baronia's deployment of the Red Wings was in clear violation of this treaty.

The bullets would be heard round the world; for the blow came almost simultaneously with the declaration of independence by the Space Colonies, now calling themselves the Principality of Zeon. For a century the Colonies, who had prospered while the Earth struggled to recover following the devastating effects of its First Impact, had been kept in the Union by permitting a series of war-games to continue, but it was clear that Degwin Zabi and his son, Patrick Ghiren Zabi, the Chairman of these Colonies, had no intention of being so easily sated now that the Earth Sphere was ripe again.

There was so much else caught up in this battle, yet not a facet of its import was lost on the commander of the ground troops. Lord Captain Cecil L. Harvey of the Baronian Red Wings was not entirely comfortable with his orders. As he scanned the monitor before him, the sight the external cameras displayed turned his stomach.

Such carnage had not been seen in Cecil's time. The Mars Colony had reported something like this when the Jovian Lizards attacked, but nothing like this. These were humans, innocents, and the order to attack had come at the hour they had all been praying toward Mecca. Nothing about this was right. But Emperor Charles had raised him like a son, and he knew where his loyalties lie. He was the sword of the King, and he would not falter. Not now.

"My Lord," came the voice of Lieutenant Biggs, "The Tower of Prayer has fallen."

"Understood," Cecil answered, understanding as far from his mind as could be. The Mysidian Elder was in this Tower of Prayer, and not in the city Mosque, as had been originally believed. "We'll leave the Magitek Armor here."

"Is that wise, Milord? There may be a trap inside."

"Look around, Lieutenant. I am not even certain that the Mysidians have the weapons to set a trap, let alone the will to do it."

A display appeared on the monitor just then. A red box with black letters, and a simple warning message: _WARNING, UNIT MTK-T1 IS BEYOND ESTABLISHED MISSION PERIMETER._ After that, a command prompt appeared: _DETONATE UNIT MTK-T1? Y/N?_ Cecil shook his head. It was so like the engineering department to install a detonation command on his unit for their experiment.

Unit MTK-T1 was a horned, red Magitek Armor, whose pilot Lord Captain Harvey had only "met" recently. She was a young woman, likely in her late teens or early twenties, but definitely younger than him by at least two years. She had long, green hair, the color of mint leaves. She was always dressed in the same Imperial Armor as any Infantryman, save that her uniform was red. About her head she always wore a silver circlet. She was undoubtedly a part of the Imperial Engineering Corps' experiment, along with the MTK-T1, and yet it was not Count Cidolfas who introduced her to the Emperor at Court, but Royal Vizier Kefka Palazzo.

"Pilot Six, you have passed beyond permitted boundaries. Rendezvous at Mission Point Four. Do you copy?" When she did not answer he remembered the briefing and, groaning, said, "Pilot Six, _heel. Come._"

After a moment of com silence, her voice was heard, "Affirmative. I will rendezvous in one minute."

A large explosion at her designated location was seen ten seconds later. By the time the smoke had cleared she had arrived. Unit MTK-T1 had no weapons in hand, and fuel and blood all over its fists. Cecil shuddered as he gazed upon it, then gave the order for all to dismount.

The assault party consisted of four: Lord Captain Harvey, his trusted Lieutenants Biggs and Wedge, and Pilot Six. Where the three Knights had their swords and rifles, Pilot Six carried only one long knife. Ignoring the quizzical looks from his Knights, the Lord Captain motioned them in.

The sanctuary was abandoned. Unusual for a place of Islamic worship, though, was that the building held depictions of humans, rather than the usual geometrical designs used for decoration along the walls. As they advanced, Cecil wondered if this was in fact a place of worship at all.

At the end of a long corridor, they found him. The Elder of Mysidia, accompanied by four priests. None were armed, but two stepped forward to bar the way. Biggs and Wedge pushed them aside and Pilot Six followed behind Cecil to where the Elder sat. Before him was a small table, covered with a white cloth. On it rested a gemstone the size of a man's fist.

"Welcome, friends," the Elder said. "How fare our allies today?"

"The Alliance is over." Cecil informed the Elder.

"How terrible. Well, it certainly is kind of the Emperor to inform us before things get too drastic, now, isn't it?"

"I have no comment on that."

"Don't you? Come a little closer, my son, and let me see your face."

"I have no reason to do that."

"Is it not polite to see a man face to face before you kill him?"

"I showed my face to none I killed today."

"I see, I see. What a pity. I trust, however, the Emperor did not lay waste to my people simply to send this message, did he? Surely there were more strategic places to strike if he intends to have a war?"

"Like?"

"I am sure I would not know. I am but a simple clergyman. Still, surely Orb, or America, or China? Indeed, from its base in Area Eleven, I believe the Empire could effectively strike any of these targets, couldn't it? So tell me, why have the Red Wings descended upon Mysidia of all places?"

"The Magicite Crystal."

"Ah, this? The Crystal of Water. Tell me, do you have any idea what this is, my young Dark Knight?"

"I do not need to answer that."

"And I do not think that you could if you needed to. Am I wrong? I am not. Do you know why I am called the Elder?"

"I don't-,"

"You see, I lied a moment ago when I said I was a clergyman. I am not. I am called the Elder of Mysidia because I have been alive for a very, very long time. I was born no more than a decade after the First Impact. Those were a horrible time indeed, when only those in the Colonies were spared the Hell that Earth was for a small time. It was in that era that a man came to this village and entrusted it with this gem. I knew him, for a time."

"And?"

"And that is why I know what this stone is, and you do not. Take it. I cannot stop you from doing so. Let it be a gift, then. Tell the Emperor Mysidia gave it to him in appreciation of his honoring the treaty."

"The treaty will not be honored henceforth."

"Tell him it anyway."

Cecil took the stone and rose. He motioned for the others to follow. When he reached the end of the chamber, the Elder called out to him one last time.

"The world is wrong, Dark Knight. Are you the one who will fix it?"


	2. Chapter 2: The Court in Black

_**ROMEFELLER MANOR, WESTPHALIA, GERMANIA.**_

_**LORDS' COUNCIL.**_

Outside Westphalia, on a hill in the verdant Germanian countryside, there stood an alabaster manor. For four hundred years it had stood, passed down in the Romefeller family throughout this time. It currently belonged to the prestigious Duke Durmail, one of the EU's most influential aristocrats.

Gathered within were men of power and distinction, noblemen from all of Europe. Their soiree on this occasion was conducted with the utmost secrecy; no small thing to accomplish given the various notaries in attendance.

This was the Lords' Council of the Romefeller Foundation. A secret body of sorts, and the true rulers of Europe, with designs upon the whole of the Earth Sphere. Theirs was a necessary union, without which Baronia would undoubtedly have conquered Western Europe, and Russia and the United States would have most certainly come to blows.

Duke Durmail opened the proceedings. An austere man, bearded, and erect. He looked like nothing less than an old, white lion in a suit. Though only a duke, he was the social equal of Kings, and financially their better. His voice, however, was jovial as it called the meeting to order.

"You all know why we're here today, I trust?" He asked, peering over his monocle at them. A Dutch Earl straightened his cravat under the imperious gaze. "The Baronian military has moved against one of our territories. A miniscule place, really, this Mysidia, but beside the point. An object of great military importance was kept there, I have been told. Even this is secondary, though. The Baronians have engaged in open warfare against us when the Colonies have declared war upon the Earth Sphere.

"The hour is late, my friends, and a storm is upon us. How long have we stood by and watched as our power base dwindled? Baronia has snatched up territories that should be ours, wooing China as she at last flowers. Russia and America have stood at the brink of a war of annihilation for decades. We find ourselves ceding authority to so-called do-gooders who would "defend" the Earth as well, this NERV, and the GGG. Now, even private companies seek to profit as we flounder.

"We are weak now, perhaps more so than ever before. What shall we do?"

"Duke Durmail," interjected a man across the table. Tall, blond, with heavy brows, dressed in a military uniform. Clean cut, the picture of a model soldier, and such he was: the venerable Treize Khushrenada. "Might I make a suggestion?"

Khushrenada was a rising star in the Foundation, and head of its military arm: the Organization of the Zodiac, or OZ. He was as charismatic as they came, and while Duke Durmail was wary of him, he knew full well the man was also an asset to his organization.

"Please, Treize, do."

"We must ride out to meet them." He paused to let the shocked murmurs die down, then said, "We are not so weak as one would think. As the falling snowflake can become the avalanche which tears the glaciers from their ancient seats, so, too, can OZ awaken the people of the world. We must act now. We will declare war on both Baronia and Zeon. It is the only way."

"Can it be done, though, Treize?"

"It is not a question of can and cannot, Duke Durmail. The only question is whether or not we will be ready to take the reins when the world hands them to us."

Far away, south and east of the mansion and Europe in general, at the Imperial Seat of Baronia, on the Island-Continent of Australia, the Red Wings were at last come home from their mission to Mysidia. The city streets celebrated their return, fanfare and laudations in rampant abundance.

In spite of the celebration, Lord Captain Cecil and his men were in poor spirits. The carnage of Mysidia was still fresh in their minds. Biggs and Wedge, usually staunch supporters of the Crown's every decision had voiced their concern on the return flight. He'd silenced them, but could not stifle the own query in his heart.

Emperor Charles had ever been a kind man, if prone to the vices of a monarch. Not a one of his wives had ever complained, and while many of his children were veritable eccentrics, he took the time to have a hand in each of their upbringings. Even Cecil, who was no son of his, trueborn or bastard, had had one or two of those rarest of opportunities to sit with the Emperor and simply _talk._

But His Majesty had changed of late. A shroud had fallen over him, and his rhetoric drastically changed. Once a benevolent monarch, he had begun to consider inequality not only natural, but just. He had become warlike, and had a lust for power which Cecil had never before seen in a man who already had power in amplitude.

What could have been the cause, though? Cecil had a few ideas. The first was Count Cidolfas Orlandeau del Norte Marquez. Though a jovial Spanish expatriate, Count Cid had single-handedly fathered the Magitek technologies which powered the MA divisions. Magitek technology's invention had come about around the time of Cecil's birth, but it had been a limited field, and the Knightmare Frames had remained the common mech of the Empire. With the invention of Magitek Armor, however, things had changed drastically.

Magitek Armor was among the most advanced types of mecha in the world, and where cutting edge Arm Slaves, Mobile Suits, Knightmare Frames, Brave Units and Aestivali were limited in the duration of their use and firepower, Magitek Armor was capable of running indefinitely, and had superior weaponry. What monarch could not resist the military superiority offered by a mech which could run nonstop, self-repair to a limited degree, and deal damage excessive of standard issue weaponry?

The second reason, though, was Lord Kefka Palazzo. A Lord only of titles, Kefka had been one of the first Magitek Knights, Cecil had heard. He was now a Royal Vizier, and ever in the presence of His Grace. Eccentric was too mundane a word for the man. Perverse was more like to the truth. He dressed in a garish mockery of royal fashion, painted his face somewhere between a doll and a jester, and had a terrible habit of bringing prostitutes to court. "Escorts" he would call them, but their manner bespoke rougher callings than that.

However, Lord Palazzo had lately ceased this habit, instead bringing with him this girl, Pilot Six. He never bothered to introduce her, only fawned upon her shoulder when he would giggle as men of higher standing addressed His Emminence. Her expression then was always the same: a blank stare. The rumors surrounding her never ceased, though.

It was said that in a fit of fury, Lord Palazzo had ordered her to attack an entire platoon of soldiers as they trained. She killed them all in five minutes. And he believed it. How could he not? He'd seen her blow through an absurd number of Mysidians in less than that. They were ill equipped and no doubt poorly trained, true, but the way she moved in battle _terrified_ him.

Cecil's reverie was broken a moment later by a cheerful tone. An aged man with a gray mustache, dressed in an expensive, but not flamboyant, suit was approaching. Sir Gentle Chapman, pilot of the Royal, a former Knight of the Round and champion of the Fight three times over. Even in the Colonies he was feared.

"Hullo, young Lord Cecil! Back from the arena, are we? Givin' 'em bloody hell?"

"Good day, Sir Chapman. I trust you are well?"

"Very much so," he said, his expression growing somewhat more serious. "His Majesty summoned me today to wish me well in the Fight this year. I've been reigning champion for your entire life. Luck has nothing to do with it at this point."

"I suppose not, Sir, though Hong Kong won last time, did they not? How fares His Majesty today?"

"The King is hale," answered another man from down the hall. Lord Baigan, the King's aide, and another neophyte at court. He was called the Royal Door by those who respected him, and the multitudes who did not called him the Royal Pit. Both names referenced his obstructive nature, preventing anyone who would naysay the King from ever drawing near. "God Bless and Long Live the King."

Cecil, Biggs, Wedge, and Chapman returned, "God Bless and Long Live the King."

"I have been instructed to introduce you to the Throne, Lord Captain," Baigan stated matter-of-factly, as if anyone was unaware of his duties. "Sir Chapman, I trust you have more pressing issues to attend than shooting the breeze with the young Captain? Baronia yet requires your vigilance in regaining the political and economic advantages the championship brings us. For awhile more, at the least." He glared at Cecil's subordinates and merely dismissed them with a gesture.

Sir Chapman, knowing an insult when he saw one, frowned, but held his tongue. He gave a cheerful nod to Cecil and as curt a bow to Baigan as legally possible, then withdrew, taking Biggs and Wedge with him. Baigan motioned for Cecil to follow.

"You have it with you, I hope?"

"I do. But what does His Majesty want with this rock?"

"An excellent question, Lord Captain. Perhaps you'd care to ask His Grace yourself?"

Cecil held his peace after that, but Baigan's sarcastic suggestion did nothing but increase his misgivings. He could piece together reasons that might tempt His Eminence break the Treaty at a time as precarious as this, when the Zeon had declared war on all the Earth, but he could not grasp the meaning of this stone. Was this rock, however it glittered in the light and seemed to glow with one of its own, truly worth the blood spilled for it?

The titanic doors to the Royal Throne were opened at Lord Baigan's bidding. The hall, as always, was lined with Royal Children. All were dressed in black. Even the sycophants, the aristocrats, and courtesans. Lord Kefka and His Grace alone remained dressed in color. At the foot of the king knelt Lord Mallory, a prominent Baronian nobleman. What business he had with the King on this day, Cecil knew not. He rose, though, and walked passed without a single word, the corners of his mouth as pointed as his mustache.

"All Hail Baronia," Cecil said, saluting and kneeling as he was introduced before the King.

"Rise, Lord Captain Cecil." His Majesty bade him. Cecil obeyed and the King of a fifth of all the Earth spoke. "The hour grows late, the skies darken with the threat of monsters from space, and the men of Earth grow weak in their hovels. The hearts of our subjects grow cold and my dear son, Prince Clovis, is murdered by terrorists in Area Eleven. All the world casts its glare upon us, daggers drawn, and now comes Cecil Harvey to my throne. Welcome, Lord Captain. Have you brought me the Sapphire of Africa?"

Cecil stood silent, unable to answer at first. The news of Prince Clovis' death, so sudden and so nonchalantly mentioned had left him stunned. He produced the stone, the size of his fist, for the royal court to see. Blue as a tropical see, cut in a rhombic pattern, and set into a gilded flower, the rock for which the Mysidian people had died yet retained an unusual red aura.

"As you desired, Majesty. The Crystal of Water, the Mysidians call it."

Lord Baigan took the stone and placed it in the hand of the King. He smirked and held it to the light, remarking only, "See how it sparkles!" Then, casting a dismissive glance at Cecil, "you may take your leave now, Lord Captain."

Cecil, shocked by the curt nature of the reply, obeyed without thought. But as his feet lead him toward the door, the stench of sulfur stung his nose and eyes, and the screams of Mysidians as Magitek Armor burned them alive filled his ears. He stopped, and turned, the court at once fixating up on him as he half shouted, half stammered, "Your Majesty!"

The King of the World's Fifth lowered the gemstone and raised his brow.

"Is the stone truly so important? The Mysidians offered no resistance and yet we cut them to the ground! My men's hearts are filled with doubt and misgiving and I- I must know: what need has lead Baronia to start this war?"

"Lord Captain, are you doubting me?" the King asked. "I, who have raised you as my own? Are you now questioning the King?"

"Majesty, no! I meant only-!"

"Only to cast doubt and suspicion upon a crown already heavy with the sorrow of our oppressed nation?" Baigan interjected. "Why must you trouble an already troubled mind?"

"For this insolence, Lord Cecil, I should have you stripped of your rank and-!"

"Majesty, wait!" called a woman. There is nothing quite like a drama enjoyed by a royal court, and they all devoured this new development. Clad in purple armor with a draconic motif, with long, blonde hair that descended to the middle of her back, General Celeste Highwind, of the Imperial Dragon Knights had come to intercede for her friend again. "I am certain Lord Captain Harvey meant no disrespect for the crown, even if he definitely did so do. Please, Highness, can he not prove his fealty still?"

Sated, the Emperor sat back in his throne. "Very well. As it happens, there is a mission I need undertaken, and Lord Cecil is precisely the man for this job. As you have volunteered so readily, you, General Highwind, will personally accompany him. Both of you, from the time you depart for this mission tomorrow, until the time you return, having successfully completed it, may consider yourselves exiles from this court. You will receive briefing en route. Now begone, for I have a son to mourn."

Both bowed and saluted, then retreated from the throne room. They had not gone far down the corridors when Cecil sighed and said, "Thank you, Celeste. I am sorry to have gotten you involved in this."

Celeste smiled, and, placing an arm around his shoulder, said, "There's nothing to be sorry for. You and I've been friends all our lives. If someone didn't keep an eye on you, these royals'd eat you alive, Cecil."

"I suppose you're right," Cecil replied, managing a wry smile. He shrugged her arm off of him, though, and added, "If you'll excuse me, though, I need to be alone for awhile." Celeste stepped back, reached for him, then desisted.

With a frustrated sigh, she said, "If you must. I've got some other things I need to get ready anyway. I'll see you tonight, then?"

Cecil did not respond, but walked away. He could not hear her, or anything else. Only the screams of the Mysidians in the streets.


	3. Chapter 3: What Happens in the Night

_**The Throne of Zeon, Side 3, Earth Sphere**_

_**Concerning Spacer Royals**_

Side Three was a cluster of colonies furthest from the greater moon, and the seat of the relatively young Principality of Zeon. It was a luxurious, wealthy, and old cluster, home to many of the sponsors of the Fight and the Fight headquarters as well. Some twenty years after First Impact, it had come into being. Vast, spacious, and rich in livestock and produce modules, Side Three's pockets had been lined with a humanity struggling to overcome its first concrete contact with a force it could not comprehend.

Side Three had been home to a visionary pair of men: Zeon Zaft Deikun and Heero Yuy. In addition to viewing the relationship of Earth and the Colonies as a vile thing heading toward a war of attrition, they had seen mankind as something more than sheep cowering in tin cans from the monsters which had caused First Impact.

Their vision of a healthy relationship between Earth and Her Children, and of a mankind with head uplifted toward God had attracted revolutionary minds to them. Politicians, Artesans, and Scientists flocked to them. Eventually, a core of four became the heart of their swiftly growing political power.

First was Zeon Zaft Deikun, though a neurologist by trade, his charisma won many to the cause he himself supplied: the theory that a new type of man was pressed to come about, that humanity would expand spiritually to understand one another. Zeon was a man loved by Spacers and Earthbound alike.

Next came the inscrutable Heero Yuy. A politician who had grown up in a part of Earth completely ravaged by the Fight, he saw Deikun's philosophy of men understanding one another as a means of reconciling the bad blood between the Earth and Colonies, whose treaties had already begun to rot.

Then was the geneticist George Glenn. Renowned across the world as a type of Renaissance Man who excelled in everything, Glenn was initially a natural fit for the group. His Coordinated Humanity Project, though, which engineered physical enhancements in the human body, but not its mind or spirit, ran contrary to Deikun's vision, and the two frequently argued.

Last of all was Degwin Sodo Zabi. An old military man, Zabi was initially hired as Deikun's bodyguard. After saving it twice, he quickly rose in prominence as the group, urging a protection of these men and making sincere endeavors to understand what they brought to the table.

When Glenn disappeard and Yuy was assassinated publicly, Deikun named Zabi his successor on his deathbed. After the funeral, Zabi revealed that Deikun had been poisoned by Federation agents fearful of the radical ideologies that Deikun and the others had expounded. As the sole heir to their considerable following, Degwin Zabi announced the birth of the Principality of Zeon, with himself as its Prince, and the simultaneous independence of Zeon from the Earth.

Now several months from that auspicious occasion, Degwin Zabi sat upon the Throne of Zeon, facing his eldest son, Patrick, and nephew by marriage, Siegel Khan. Patrick Ghiren Zabi was the chief commander of the Zeon military, and Siegel was the Prime Minister of all civilian affairs. They had squabbled from childhood up, and matters had not been helped by the decision to have their children wed just to sort the matter of Khan royalty sorted out once and for all. One of their childish disputes had brought them before him today.

"I'm telling you that conscripting children into the military is _wrong_ Patrick." Siegel said. "We cannot expect to have popular support from the other Sides if we make this decision."

"How old is your daughter, Siegel?" Patrick asked, already formulating his strategy.

"Haman is nineteen," Siegel said, willfully avoiding Patrick's point.

"No, the other one. Little Lacus is sixteen, isn't she?"

"Your point, Patrick?"

"My point is that you see her as perfectly old enough to prance around in those costumes and sing those songs."

"Lacus' music is good for moral and colonial union-."

"They're already calling her, a Khan, a Zeon Princess. If the great Siegel Khan's daughter is old enough to do her part for this nation, surely the sons and daughters of other Spacers ought to be old enough as well?"

"Singing is not the same as fighting in a war!"

"I'm glad you agree. Perhaps little Lacus ought to trade in her tart's clothing for a fine military uniform instead?"

Degwin could stand to hear no more. If he did not intercept now, this petty bickering would go on for some time. The hour for Solomon to silence the bickering mothers had come at last. "I believe," he said, "That it would be wisest for us all to settle the matter thus: Mandatory conscription is not necessary for all, but a draft will be conducted, and voluntary enlistment permitted. This is not a suggestion." Before Patrick had the chance to gloat, though, Degwin added, "That said, Patrick, I would caution you against such criticism of your daughter in law. Lacus Khan is a Zeon Princess because she is engaged to a Zeon Prince. Your son, the honorable Athrun Garma Zabi. You may continue to leave young Athrun in the military and Siegel will continue to raise his daughter as he wills as well. Is this clear?"

Both men bowed their heads in assent. Degwin was pleased. His was a fledgling kingdom with incredible momentum. He could not allow such petty in-fighting to topple it before it took wing. Not when he had already come so far.

"Which of these masked fools is commanding young Athrun's forces again? The Red Comet?"

"No, father. Athrun has been selected for the Creuset squadron. Le Creuset may share the Red Comet's taste in décor, but I would not deem him a fool."

"But you would the Red Comet?"

"The Red Comet is a spectacle, father. Le Creuset wears the mask to deflect attention, not draw it to himself the way this Char Aznable or my sister, Kaecylia does."

"As you say then. Now gentlemen, I believe you had other matters to discuss today?"

At this same time, night had fallen over the Baronian capitol, and atop one of the myriad towers in the grand castle now stood the young Lord Captain Cecil Harvey. Gazing up at the twin moons, the only celestial bodies visible due to the city's light pollution, he considered once more the Emperor's reaction to the stone. Prince Clovis was dead, and even know his body was being brought to the tomb, yet in the Emperor's eyes there was nothing but joy as he held that rock.

Yet for Cecil, that simple stone held naught but grief and pain. A bitter reminder of the horrors of Mysidia, and the now unmistakable change which had come over the man he admired above all others. Thinking himself alone, he took the chance to speak aloud the thoughts which haunted him that evening.

"When he asked me to take up the sword, I thought His Majesty had hoped I become one of his Knights. A member of the Royal Guard, a Retainer, or even a member of the Knights of the Round. I dreamt only of this that night. I aspired to be the sword which His Sons could wield in future days for the defense of this land.

"But now? What have I become? I murdered men who could not fight me, and who would not have tried were it not for my invasion of their homes. All for a rock whose worth cannot be equal to the lives I've taken. And when I stood before the man who ordered it, I dared not speak my mind. And when I heard the order, I dared not disobey."

"Here you are," Celeste cooed, walking behind him, then resting herself against him. "I worried you would not be here."

Cecil tensed at her touch, and cast his gaze downward. "I should not be, nor should you."

"Cecil! What has gotten into you? You silly man, don't you know I-."

"Should forget about me. You should forget about me. You should leave the military and forget about me, Celeste. War is coming, and I cannot be the man you loved anymore. Not when it means murdering men who can't defend themselves. A coward like me does not deserve that kind of love. Leave me, and forget-."

_CRACK!_ Echoed the sound of Celeste's palm across Cecil's face. Her face was flushed, her breathing heavy, and tears welled in her green eyes. "H-how dare you insult me so! Do you think me an idiot, Cecil? Some swooning maiden who fights only to be near you? I have my pride as a soldier, just as you. Do you think me a fool, too? Cecil Harvey is many things, but a coward is not one of them! The man I fell in love with is not a coward!"

"What other word is there for a man who burns men alive when they do not so much as have swords to lift against him? If not a coward, then what?"

"A soldier, doing his duty."

"And when that duty is wrong?"

"Do you doubt His Majesty so much?"

"You wouldn't know. You weren't there."

"Don't do that! Don't shut me out Cecil. _Please._ I might not know what that was like, but I do know how I feel for you, and that I don't doubt. Look at me." When Cecil averted her eyes, she insisted, "Look at me! Tell me you don't feel the same."

"I . . . Celeste I . . . you know . . . ."

"I know, but I need to hear you say it."

"I need time, Celeste. When this mission is over, then I will say it."

"I will hold you to this promise, Cecil."

"And I will keep it."


	4. Chapter 4: SNAFU

_**The City of Neo-Tokyo, Refugee Kingdom of Orb.**_

_**Of Teenage Life.**_

Some distance from the State of Hawaii, in an area kept autonomous by United States support, under the protection of the now defunct Earth Alliance Treaty, there floated an artificial island state known as the Orchestrated Refugee Base, or Orb. The island, though a machination of human hands, the island was massive and beautiful. It had originally been created as refuge funded by the Athha family for the sake of sheltering the masses who could not survive in the post Impact world. In time, this charity was rewarded, and the nation prospered. After the Baronian conquest of Japan, as many Japanese as could fled to Orb. Caught between Japan and Australia, it was protected by the United States.

In spite of this, the Orb had remained neutral and without the actual Federation Treaty. This stringent neutrality had fostered it as surely as the American protection had, enabling it to bask in American military protection whilst simultaneously trading with the Soviet Russians and the Chinese Empire. The massive influx of Japanese had radically altered the nation's culture in the last decade or so, the population shifting suddenly from American ex-patriots and the children of Latin American business men to include the burgeoning Japanese masses.

The city of Neo-Tokyo was something of the ethnic capitol of these neophyte Orb-men, and while it certainly made no effort to expel those of other races, its population and style were predominately Japanese. Everywhere one went there were bound to be drunken old men who spoke too loudly of going back to reclaim the land of the rising sun, old women who nattered on about the cherry blossom trees being so much more brilliant there, and parents who yet remembered the loved ones they had lost in their flight. It was a proud city, but its pride carried the deepest of wounds.

Orb was also a land of idealism and altruism. Based out of this nation were NERV, the successors of Gehern who had been investigating and developing a means to combat the Angels, the otherworldly entities who had caused the First and Second Impact; and the Gutsy Geoid Guard, who fought the Zonder, a sect who were said to have been involved in Second Impact.

The Two Impacts were events known across the world. The First had opened the century, and was the reason that the Colonies had flourished. The Second, smaller in scale, had happened in the Antarctic, on the same day, twenty five years ago, that the Zonder had caused a massive explosion which crippled Japan, leaving it ripe for Baronia to pluck.

The sun was setting over the city, now, and students were making their way home from the later bouts of classes. Among these many was a young Kaname Chidori, the daughter of an American and Japanese, Kaname was a pretty girl with hair so black it could almost be called blue. Unlike many of her peers, though, she was possessed of a sharp wit and sharper tongue. Energetic and boisterous, she was often called the prettiest girl no guy wanted to date.

She walked with her friend Kyokou Tokiwa, a cheery, if hapless girl with large spectacles and larger braids. As they walked, they talked of nothing of great importance. The weather, the latest songs, television, boys and the like.

"Did you see about the _Nadesico_ on the news, Kyokou?" Kaname asked out of the blue.

"The Nabisco? Isn't that a cookie? I don't watch the news much, Kaname."

"No, silly. The _Nadesico. _It's a new spacecraft, designed by Nergal Heavy Industries. It's supposed to begin its maiden voyage soon."

"And?"

"And, it's a ship capable of interplanetary flight. That's a big deal, isn't it?"

"I guess so. I don't pay attention to these things in school."

"Yeesh, Kyokou. Y'know, sometimes you worry me. How are you going to pass classes like this?"

"Cheating, I guess."

"You don't have to be so bluh!"

Kaname's sentence was cut short by her sudden collision with one of her classmates. Shinji Ikari was his name, she thought. He was a pale kid, scrawny and sullen. Just looking at him kind of ticked her off, too. She could feel her face flush.

"Well!?" She barked.

"Sorry!" He stammered. "I just wasn't looking."

"Yeah, and? You could've bowled me over!" She snarled, leaning in close.

"Kaname, he said he was sorry."

Chidori paused a moment, and suddenly felt embarrassed by her outburst. She laughed nervously, then apologized, saying, "Sorry about that. I should've been paying more attention, too. Sh-Shinji?"

Shinji, eyes downcast, did not respond at first. Then, he just turned, never lifting his head, skulking away and muttering only, "Yeah, whatever."

"Sheesh!" She huffed, "What's his problem?"

At this time, passing above Orb airspace at a speed and height beyond their radar scope, was a carrier jet with a cargo of five passengers, four Magitek Armors and a Knightmare Frame. The exterior was unmarked, painted a dull shade of greyish blue. It was barely visible to the girls on the ground, far, far below. No larger than a period on a page, if that.

The five passengers were Lord Captain Cecil L. Harvey, General Celeste R. Highwind, Lieutenant Dominic Biggs, Lieutenant Calvin Wedge and Pilot Six. Biggs and Wedge had volunteered for the mission as soon as they had heard about it, but Pilot Six' assignment had come from on high. They were going over the briefing for the third time.

"We will land in the Siberian Narshe district at MST, at point alpha, and begin the operation. From point alpha we will move to fulfill objective alpha. Point alpha is this ridge here," Cecil said, indicating a ridge on the map. "Visibility is low, but weather is expected to be snowy, and snow will make the mechs stand out. The ridge at point alpha overlooks the abandoned city of Yamsk-10, in the shadow of Mount Narshe. We are to deliver the package to Yamsk-10 and then proceed to point beta after the diversion begins. Point beta is this facility here, where the Soviets have been developing weapons that could threaten the Empire. We must eliminate these prototypes and any personnel on site. If it is any comfort, the majority of the staff are all condemned anyway. Better they die for His Majesty's cause than be executed for whatever crimes the Communists would have them die for.

"During the assault, we have to complete objective delta: the retrieval of a containment unit which has already been marked by sympathizers for our retrieval. The data has been preloaded into your mecha for this mission, meaning that the OS will advise you as soon as it has located the containment unit. After the completion of all objectives, we will rendezvous at point alpha at MET and return to HQ from there. Any questions?"

"In sum," Wedge began, "We go to the abandoned village, blow it up, raid the facility while they're distracted, and grab this containment unit?"

"Correct. It well should be after hearing this three times now," Celeste sighed. "Although this is all too vague for my liking."

"I'm glad to hear someone else say it," Cecil replied. "The briefing was entirely devoid of concrete information. What is this package we're leaving in Yamsk-10, and what significance does it pose as a diversion? Why are we attacking the facility? What's in the containment unit? What is the significance of this mission?"

"For now," Celeste shrugged, "its significance is in seeing your good name restored to honor. Questioning the King to his face, what were you thinking Cecil?"

"Exactly what I am now. There's something wrong with all of this. Ever since-."

"That kind of talk isn't wise in front of the subordinates," Celeste said.

"Hey now," Biggs teased, "our lips are as sealed as hers." He indicated Pilot Six, who had sat, silent and motionless during the entire flight.

Cecil considered again the oddity of this team. While it wasn't unheard of for a General to participate in combat operations, and indeed even several of His Majesty's own children were renowned for service on the front lines during conflicts in the Areas, to have a General on what was definitely a black ops mission seemed unorthodox in the highest. Cecil's men being permitted to join was more unusual still. The Red Wings were spec, not black ops. Quiet was not their domain. And then there was Pilot Six.

He'd seen her in Mysidia. Had witnessed first hand how brutal she could be. If the rumors surrounding Six were true, then it meant that the higher ups were expecting an uphill fight. To deploy four magitek armors, one still experimental, and a top of the line Knightmare Frame for a mission that required relative secrecy was beyond him.

This wasn't Mysidia, after all. The Soviet Union wasn't the same as the African Treaty. It was powerful, well equipped for war, and not repressed by the hungry, slothful European Union. Provoking war with them could grow dangerous in no amount of time. Magitek Armor was powerful, but even it could not defend against a nuclear assault.

"Pilot Six, do you have anything you'd like to add to the discussion?" Cecil asked on a whim.

With a mechanical uplifting of her head, Six stared at him. Her eyes were such a dark shade of blue they almost looked purple in the light, but they were also glassed over, as if she was not actually looking at him. When he sighed and added the command "Speak" to his inquiry, Pilot Six spoke.

"Negative. The Mission Parameters are understood, Sir."

"Are they? Clarify for me, then: why are we to obtain the containment unit?"

"Because it is mission objective delta."

Surprised by so barren an answer, Cecil let the topic slide, and sat in silence for the remainder of the flight. He didn't even bother to think He just let her response echo inside his head. There was definitely something _odd_ about Six.

Two hours later they arrived. All five pilots mounted their mecha and awaited the drop signal. Cecil groaned inwardly. Though the drop would be seemless, the parachute on his Magitek deploying automatically, there would still be that awful weightless _lurch_ when at first he fell.

"You haven't forgotten, have you?" Celeste asked on a private channel.

"What I promised last night? No."

"No, stupid. Our first mission. It was to Russia, too. We were fifteen. Grandfather wanted to test out the new Guardian phase suits. His Majesty needed a show of their power, too. We came to put them on display for the Soviets to fear, remember?"

"I do. Why didn't the Guardian phase continue? They were better armored."

"There were a lot of reasons, Grandfather said. Something about being too heavy. The real reason, though, was that His Majesty had become more enamored with the Pluto phase suits instead. _She's_ responsible for that."

"Pilot Six? You mean?"

"You mean you don't know? Really, Cecil. It was the talk of the Court for weeks."

"I've never been much of a fan of court talk. Besides, I heard it was around the same time that all that business happened in Area Eleven. I was busy. So what happened?"

"You know how Kefka brings whores to Court? It's actually by order of His Majesty. Lord Kefka used to come alone, remember? Then he lost it, and started bringing dolls. His Majesty ordered him to bring an actual woman instead, and even arranged for Kefka to begin courting that Indian princess, remember? No? Really, Cecil! Anyway, Kefka brings this Indian princess to court, along with Six. The Indian woman slaps Kefka over his antics, and he ordered Six, in front of the entire court, to gut her on the spot.

"Six produces a knife, right? And she's going to do it. I'm serious, Cecil, this girl was going to cut open a dignitary in front of the King. The Indian woman made a break for it, and His Majesty ordered the Royal Guard to defend her. Kefka had managed to sneak one of the Pluto prototypes onto Castle grounds, with nothing but a heat knife. Six got into it, cut down forty Royal Guards, nine Guardian phase units, and one Knight of the Round. In minutes. There was almost war with India, Cecil. What were you doing that you didn't know about all this?"

"Putting down an insurrection in Area Eleven. The entire Federation was fuming over that, remember? There were times where we didn't even receive orders because it was chaos. America and Russia tried to use the entire thing as a proxy for their own war and it got ugly. Believe it or not, we spent more time defending the Elevens we'd been sent to fight from Chinese and German mercenaries than actually fighting them."

"I see. Did I ever tell you about the Battle of Miranda?"

"No."

"Another time, then. It's drop time."

Cecil steeled himself as he closed the private channel. Ten seconds later his stomach lurched and the MTK-17 _Red Wing_ plummeted steadily Earthward. Exactly one minute and three seconds afterward, the parachute deployed. Four minutes later, Cecil's _Red Wing_ made Earthfall. Moments later General Celeste's Glasgow Custom the _Dragoon_ was next, followed by Biggs and Wedge's _Red Wing_ units. Last came the MTK-T1 _Madonna_, a ghastly red specter against the stark white snow and moonlight.

The ridge designated only as Point Alpha overlooked a small valley, in which the ruins of the village known as Yamsk-10 lay. It was too hard to see from this distance, though. Towering above the valley, opposite the small Baronian party, was the mighty Mount Narshe. To their backs was the prison where the facility staff lay at night, and to their left at the valley mouth was the facility itself.

"Mission Start Time minus one minute," Pilot Six said. "Commencing operation."

The _Madonna_ lunged forward, vaulted from the edge of the ridge, making contact with the parcel as it floated down, and slid with it to the valley below. Cecil followed suit less than ten seconds behind. As the squad leader, it was his duty to place the package.

Over the channel he heard Biggs ask, "Is she okay to trust? I mean, she went outside the EMP last time."

"Yeah, she'll be fine," Wedge said. "I've got a buddy in Cid's lab. He vouched for me. She couldn't defy the Captain if she wanted to."

"Yeah? How's that?"

"Kefka trains her. Remember the key words we were briefed on to use with her before last mission? That's not just because she's a new type of Magitek Knight. Kefka talks to her like a dog because she's his bi-."

"That's enough, Wedge." Cecil said, catching up with The _Madonna_. To Pilot Six he added, "Don't mind them."

"Affirmative, Captain," was the only response he received.

Six handed him the package, a large, iron cylinder, approximately half the height of a suit of Magitek Armor. He wasn't certain what it was, but Six's response prevented him from thinking overmuch. It was mission objective alpha. His Majesty's vision was further reaching than his own, and whatever came next was just a part of the mission.

The small party reached the square of the abandoned Yamsk-10 settlement, and Cecil placed it next to what had once been a fountain. In his stomach was a sense of unease regarding this, but he kept repeating Six's statement in his head, like a mantra to dispel evil thoughts. His heart froze before they reached the edge of the city, though.

A drunkard was stumbling across the way, tumbling through the drifts toward a tree to take a piss. At first, Cecil's only thought was what would happen if the man turned around and saw these suits walking behind him. Then a dread horror gripped his throat. Nameless, it began, then, mounting in the worst of ways as the truth dawned on him.

Not bothering to use a coded channel, he only had time to gasp, "The town is-!" before the square behind him exploded into a ball of fire. His _Red Wing_ was knocked forward a step by the concussive force of the explosion. He turned around to see a scene from Hell itself. The initial explosion had launched other explosives into the air, which in turn detonated themselves. Before he could react to this, another explosion burst from the facility at the mouth of the valley, and from the prison atop the ridge.

"Captain! Captain!" Biggs' voice cried over the radio. "Captain! I've got a hit! Thirteen units inbound! They're Arm Slaves, sir, Savages! No! Oh God, no!"

"What is it?" Celeste shouted. Her voice sounded almost foreign to him. It was hoarse and strained, and it made Cecil think back to sounds he had heard long ago.

"It's . . . It's a _Gundam!_ The Soviet Union's Bolt Gundam is _here!_"

Cecil's eyes darted to the ridge. There it was. Towering, like a yeti, a demon of frost in the bottom of Hell. The Bolt Gundam stood at the ridge's crest, while half the Savage units made for the facility.

"Shit!" Wedge spat. "What now, Captain?"

"The village is inhabited." Cecil said, not entirely in possession of his faculties. "Can you see them?"

"What are you-_oh. _Oh _God_ no."

Everywhere they looked, people were running and screaming, trying in vain to escape from a flame that spread of its own volition. Several of the microbombs opened to begin spraying gasoline onto the flames. Yamsk-10 was supposed to be abandoned, but the frightened Russian women, children, and elderly readily attested that this was not the case as they fell into the drifts, vainly hoping to extinguish a fire greedily devouring their flesh and bones.

The smell of sulfur pervaded the air, and something worse hung behind it. Cecil Harvey felt his stomach lurch and would have vomited, had not, at that moment, a voice addressed him on the open channel.

"Throw down your arms and expect your deaths to be humane. It is more than you have given these people." The accent was heavy Russian, but the language English. They had already been identified as Baronians. War would come of this.

"I . . . I . . ."

The Bolt Gundam leapt from the ridge to the valley floor, raising its morning star in preparation for combat. Cecil drew his Magitek Armor's combat short-sword in preparation. The Bolt Gundam's blow glanced the head of his Armor, and he was sent staggering backward.

Before it could strike again, The _Madonna_ engaged. The sleek, red armor grabbed hold of the Gundam's right arm and began to twist it, threatening to break it off. Cecil took this as his cue.

"Fall back!" He called. "We cannot fight in this city. More lives will be in danger if we do. Proceed to the facility! Finish the mission!" Doing their best not to be herded by their foes, Cecil's squad complied. They picked off the Savages as they went, backing down the Valley.

"This is the famous Mythril we've heard so much about?" The Russian asked, his Gundam finally freeing itself from The _Madonna_'s grip. "Some champions of justice. You murdered a city in its sleep."

"Mythril?" Biggs half-laughed, half asked as he backed up.

Wedge, pulling his own short-sword from the cockpit of a Savage, explained, "A Mercenary organization that fancies themselves the world's police. Remember that factory that exploded in China? Turns out Mythril was freeing the work-force. Bunch of near-sided do-gooders. Said workers were herded right from that factory to the firing squad."

"Now isn't the time for current events!" Celeste exclaimed, her unit removing the arm of a Savage and narrowly avoiding being skewered by another. A third snuck up on her, only to have its head blown off by a sniper round.

"Did you fire that, Six?" Cecil asked, no longer able to find her in the fray.

"Yeah," a man's voice came. "I did. Urzu Six here. I take it you copy?"

"Who in the-?"

"I don't have time to explain it. Truth is, I was aiming for your friend's head. I can't stand creeps like you, blowing up undefended cities in the middle of the night-!"

"I'd hardly call _this_ undefended!" Wedge complained.

"I'd be gunning your heads off right now," Urzu Six continued, "But HQ just phoned in with a deal. My friends are pinned down back by the facility. You help me open a path there, and we both get out of this fine."

"Well, Captain?" Biggs asked.

Cecil, broken from his reverie, blurted, "S-sure! You provide the support fire, and we'll get your path open. We have business in that facility. I trust you can do this?"

"Trust me, my friends will be all the help we'll need."

"You'll need more than just the two Arm Slaves pinned at the lab." The Russian said. "Now come out here and _fight me!"_ The Bolt Gundam pounded the ground and it shook. "You murderers!"

"Captain?"

"Ignore the Gundam! Everyone to the lab!"

It was a task easier said than done. Six Savages yet lay between them, with the Bolt Gundam at their back. It was slow, but its raw power made up for it. The _Red Wings_ could certainly dispatch of the Savages, and the Custom Glascow was no slouch, but it was a matter of time. Even with their mysterious sniper. It wasn't going to be easy.

Or so Cecil thought, until he caught glimpse of the _Madonna._ Her shoulders expanded, hatches opening, emitting a red light. From each shoulder two gun barrels extended, and then, after a flash, beam cannons fired at the Savages. They were knocked skyward, and she pounced like a feral cat into their midst. In less than three minutes she decapitated one, then tossed her knife into the cockpit of a second, using the momentum of the first to embed her fist into the third while ramming it into the fourth. Vulcans on the sides of her head fired into the fifth until it crumpled like so much paper. The sixth and final took a step backward, clearly frightened by such a lethal display.

Over the open channel, the sound of Six panting heavily could be heard. The Savage dodged left as the _Madonna_ feinted right. She came up behind it, locked her arms around its shoulders and slid a knee between its legs. The two fell to the ground and the Savage desperately tried to clamber away as Six pounded its back in an effort to crack the shell, but it was too late. The _Madonna_ ripped off the Savage's entire back, then opened Vulcan fire.

"Shiiiiiiit." Urzu Six whistled. "You guys better haul ass."

"Right," Celeste stammered, regaining her faculties first. The squad made for the base, moving away from the Gundam as quickly as they could. Upon arrival, two Arm Slaves they had not yet seen awaited them.

"I'm Urzu Two," said the first. It was a female voice, likely not much different in age from Cecil and Celeste. Her Arm Slave was taller than a Savage, more human in appearance. It had a single, green eye, heavy shoulder-pads, a long-sword, and a fin emerging from its head. The unit beside her was indistinguishable, save the armaments and lack of said fin.

"Urzu Seven."

"Well, here's a pretty picture of unlikely allies," Wedge moaned.

"Emphasis on the unlikely." Urzu Two said. "You bastards burned down a village full of people. If we weren't in a hurry . . . ."

Cecil was about to reply when the side of the facility exploded. The flames were massive, towering things. From within them emerged what at first he thought was a demon. He was as terrified when he realized what it was.

"It's a _Gundam!_" he exclaimed. Red and white, like the fire and snow around it, the mobile suit carried a massive gattling gun in one arm, and an anti-mecha knife in the other. Its chest cracked open, revealing yet two more gun cannons, which opened fire, driving the group backward, toward the Bolt Gundam.

"Anyone who sees a Meteor," came the pilot's voice over the open channel, "cannot be allowed to live. Those are my orders." The voice was cold, and emotionless, frigid as the feeling in their stomachs.

"Dammit!" Wedge shouted as the new Gundam blasted off his left arm, "Can anything _else_ go wrong with this mission? What were they thinking, dropping us into the middle of a war zone with a big red sign that said 'Here we are!'?!"

"Pilot Six," Celeste shouted, "occupy the new Gundam and get us to that base! Pilot Six, do you copy?"

Pilot Six did not respond. The _Madonna_ had not moved since firing on the last Savage. The Bolt Gundam was almost close enough to strike it with its morning star now. With the new Gundam forcing them backward, they seemed pinned, and the two new Arm Slaves did not seem much help. The problem with facing Gundams, as they all knew, was that they were unpredictable. Gundams used in the Fight tended to be tailor made to the specifications of their pilots. As such, there was a wide variety of gimmicks and capabilities that all fell under the name "Gundam."

It was in these dire circumstances that The _Madonna_ began to pulse. It seemed improbable, at the very least, that a machine should do so, but it did. Pilot Six growled into the channel, and, just as the Bolt Gundam's heavy blow was about to land, her hands shot up and caught it. With the same fluidity of motion, she hurled the entire Bolt Gundam over her shoulder.

"Scatter!" someone shouted into the channel. Who, Cecil could not be sure. It might even have been himself. He thought that scatter was a word which aptly described his thoughts at the time, but paid it no significant thought beyond that, narrowly avoiding being bowled over by the Bolt as it crashed down on its right.

The confusion was the opportunity they needed, and Biggs and Wedge rushed the remaining red Gundam knocking it down long enough for Celeste, Cecil, and the still-throbbing Six to hurry by. The Arm Slaves headed in the opposite direction, parting ways and making their escape.

"So long, kids," Urzu Six said over the channel, "Don't burn any more villages, got it? Or next time we're not gonna let you slip away."

"Who's doing the slipping away?" Wedge shot back as he and Biggs frantically fled from the red Gundam. It was stopped part way through its pursuit by the Bolt Gundam getting back to its feet. None of the Baronians paused to glance behind as their battle began; rushing instead into the gaping hole in the side of the facility.

A drab, dull laboratory it would likely have been before this, the flames and wreckage, combined with the simple fact that it was never meant to be navigated by mecha, made finding a path to the underground warehouse where the containment unit was kept nearly impossible. Frustrated and low on time, Cecil decided to simply make one, and tore the floor up.

The space below was large enough for standard issue mechs to stand comfortably, and indeed, there were several skeletal prototypes which were doing precisely that. One looked like a Knightmare Frame with the Bolt Gundam's head atop, and another greatly resembled an attempt to construct something like an Aestivalis out of spare Gundam parts as well. It was evident the scientists here were not exactly competent.

The containment unit, though, is what drew all attention in the room. A glass tube, illuminated from below, not much shorter than the prototypes along the walls, it contained some manner of incredibly clear ice. Frozen inside the ice was something that appeared almost draconic. Milky white, like a lizard born in the dark of a cave, slender like a worm, and possessing a spear-head, it struck a terrifying picture at odds with the non-threatening machines along the walls.

"I hear it," Six said, of a sudden. "I can hear it _crying._"

Cecil strained his ears, but could hear nothing, save the distant rumble of the Gundam fight outside. He turned to see the _Madonna_ advancing on the containment unit's position. Celeste stepped between Six and the object.

"Whatever this is," she said, "I'm certain your orders are not to retrieve it, Six."

"But what is this?" Cecil asked. "What is all of this? Why did His Majesty order us to burn an inhabited village and murder those people to get . . . this?"

"Whatever His reasons," Celeste plead, "I'm sure they were noble and just."

"Are you? What nobility is there in what we just did? What justice? I cannot see it."

"I can see it," Pilot Six said, stepping toward the container again. "I can see it as it tries to break free. I can hear it as it cries out."

"C-Captain!" Biggs screamed as a flash of energy surged from the container, into the _Madonna,_ and then through his _Red Wing_. Biggs and his mech were gone. Not exploded, but vanished altogether. While so distracted by Biggs, Wedge's unit suffered a similar fate.

Six began to speak frantically in a language which Cecil had never heard before and could not understand. Celeste fired on her, but the bullets disappeared as well.

"Cecil," she whispered, "I'm afraid."

A red light poured into the area, and then, all was black as night. And Cecil could not breathe.


	5. Chapter 5: Concerning Gundams

_**Heliopolis City, Side Seven Cluster of Colonies Loyal to the Earth Sphere.**_

_**Regarding Gundams**_

The expansion of mankind into space brought with it a new series of needs for the ever growing population's consumption. Among these resources were key elements, mined from the vast resources on Jupiter and the Asteroid Belt. The truth was that humanity rarely, if ever, made the trip across the Belt, and the only known civilization that existed there was the Jupiter Fleet, which existed largely for the sake of harvesting and ferrying these materials back to the Earth Sphere.

As such, the life of a frontiersman was something of a contradiction. He was at once very wealthy, and lived rather sparsely. There was good money in the work on Jupiter, and would be for a long, long time. But the length of time it took to acquire luxuries in the Fleet, which resided almost exclusively in simultaneous orbit with the Eye of Jupiter, made a life beyond basic comforts a relative impossibility for all. The additional problem of the planet being hounded by the eponymous Jovian Lizards only compounded the issue.

Among the materials harvested by the Jupiter Fleet and the Asteroid Belt Miners, the most valuable of all was undoubtedly the unusual Gundanium Alloy. A metal of especial strength, capable of surviving atmospheric reentry unassisted, and more durable than any other known to man, Gundanium Alloy had been worth more than any other precious metal on the day of First Impact.

It was only a short time before this that the first of the Gundam class Mobile Suits had been developed. During the disaster and the aftermath, this mech, the RX-1, gained notoriety as a machine which helped assist in many operations to restore the Earth and its connections with the colonies, and with that order in the Earth Sphere of Influence.

This RX-1's popularity and utility is thought to have been the reason for the development of most other mecha in the following Century. By the time of Second Impact and the Baronian invasion of Japan, the RX-1 had faded into the catacombs of time, but its legacy endured. So enthused by the Gundam had the world been, that its nations and colonies established the Gundam Fight in its honor. Though the Fight would later open to include other mecha, it began as a chance for nations to display their worth and wealth through the performance of their Gundams.

With the introduction of other mecha into the fight, and several startling victories over Gundams, as well as the increasing price of Gundanium alloy, Gundams had become an increasingly rare sight in the world. Though the name remained synonymous with unpredictability in a mecha, it was now more because Fighters employed more and more comical gimmicks to stand out than because of the power that the first Fighters attempted to emulate, and even more distanced from the beneficent might of the RX-1.

All of this was about to change, however, with the introduction of the world's very first military grade Gundams. Indeed, the word "Gundam" would soon gain a meaning far removed from the expectations of any involved, including the unfortunate engineering staff involved in the Operation Meteor.

Financed by the Barton Foundation, employing the brightest engineers Anaheim Electronics and Moerganroete had ever produced, and conducted in the utmost secrecy, Operation Meteor had produced no fewer than ten of these Mobile Suits, and soon each would play a pivotal role in the coming struggle to right the course of a world floundering. The stated goal of this Operation was to at last lay to rest the dispute between the Earth Sphere and her children Colonies. Gundams were selected ironically, as the Fight had simultaneously maintained the relationship of the two and prevented either from maintaining dominance over the other throughout the century.

In truth it was somewhat more complicated than that. The Gundam Fathers, as the Operation Meteor staff had named them, had created one Gundam as an initial design, but considered it too powerful. They then made five working together, the RX-G01W, RX-G02D, RX-G03H, RX-G04SR, and RX-G05SL. But there was one among them who had betrayed the Bartons, and he made five of his own.

Doctor Tem Ray, a genius in his own right, had joined the Earth Federation, and, having a wife who yet lived there, could not abide by the Operation Meteor's chief goal. To aid the Federation, Doctor Tem Ray had developed several Mobile Suit prototypes before creating his Wing Breakers: the four Gundams built to counteract Operation Meteor. These were the GAT-RX102 Duel Gundam, GAT-RX103 Buster Gundam, GAT-RX104 Blitz Gundam, and GAT-RX105 Aegis Gundam. The fifth and final was the RX-78-2, which Dr. Ray had yet to give a name beyond "Gundam."

Dr. Ray lived in a Colony-City affiliated with the ORB known as Heliopolis, located in Side Seven of the Colonies, with his only son, Amuro K. Ray. Due to the political affiliation of the city, Dr. Ray's research was conducted in the utmost secrecy. Indeed, _many_ top secret military programs were being based in this colony. An experimental battleship had just been brought into a private deck last week, and green military personnel were doing their best not to stand out in the city.

There being no such thing as a well kept secret, word had gotten out, and attracted a rather unsavory fly. Floating just beyond sensory range, a Musai-class cruiser brought a group of men least likely to bring good fortune to this secret Gundam project. Uninformed of its relation to Operation Meteor, these men of the Zeon military had assembled on the cruiser's bridge to discuss the upcoming mission.

Foremost among them was the Red Comet, Captain Char Aznable. Tall, strong, and undoubtedly handsome in spite of the masked helmet he wore, he stood some ten paces away from another masked man: the enigmatic Commander Rau Le Creuset. Between them, standing at parade rest, was the son of Patrick Ghiren Zabi: Athrun Garma Zabi. Younger than either by several years, greener than emerald, and eager to prove himself, he was nearly blind to the tension between the two masks.

The two men, on the surface, had much in common. Rau, like Char, was blond, masked, and charismatic. Both were talented pilots and tacticians. But Aznable, unlike Le Creuset, had an impeccable record. Le Creuset had lost every encounter he had had with the Hawk of Endymion, an Earth Federation pilot whose contributions had been crucial in the Lunar Cities disputes. Le Creuset was an enigmatic man, whose past was a secret he did not openly discuss. He often spoke in riddles, and his men, while ever conscientious of his charisma, frequently noted that working under him could be . . . _unsettling._ Aznable, by contrast, was beloved by his soldiers, spoke frequently enough of his past, and was generally viewed as being "one of the men."

Now, the differences between them became clearer as they spoke.

"I am against it," Aznable said. "Dispatching mobile suits and infantry into a neutral colony where we have yet to confirm the presence of these new Gundam-Class Mobile Suits is a waste of man power and a dangerous move."

"What should happen, though, if we send reconnaissance in and discover that the Gundam-Class are there? It would be a terrible waste of the element of surprise."

"Not if the reconnaissance were also the recovery team," Athrun interjected. "If Captain Aznable and I go in, we can recover the suits, if they are there. If they are not, we can make our retreat without being seen."

"There are supposed to be four units, though, Athrun." Cmdr. Le Creuset said, gesturing with his hand. "Two men cannot steal four units."

"We'll send five, then, Commander," Char said. It was a shift in gears so sudden that Athrun was confused at first. He didn't see precisely why the Captain would perform such a rapid turn around. "I will personally lead a squad of five. The squadron will be chosen by the good Prince Athrun."

"I see. Athrun because he is your friend, and because he is my subordinate. Why five, though?"

Char smiled enigmatically and said, "In case one should perish, or get caught. Five is the maximum and minimum for completing this mission."

"And you would go yourself? Taking a Prince of the Zabi family with you? What need is there for a Prince and a Captain to perform such grunt work."

"Why does the Principality stoop to the petty theft of enemy units? If we are to steal another man's horse, Commander, the very least we can do is steal it with our own hands." Char smiled again, and patted Le Creuset on the shoulder. Athrun marveled at the friendship these men shared, how they could resolve any dispute with the great wisdom between them. He had no doubt that his grandfather would be victorious and just with stalwart heroes such as these working beneath him. Le Creuset's cunning and Char's valor were inspirations among the entirety of Zeon forces, and here Athrun was, seeing it for the first time himself.

"I have a team in mind already," he told Captain Aznable after they had been dismissed from the Bridge with the Commander's approval.

"Do you?" Char asked. "Of course you do! This is why I made the recommendation: you're always a step ahead of me, Athrun. So, who'll be joining Robin Hood and Little John as they rob the rich to feed the poor?"

"Yzak, Dearka, and Nichol." Athrun said moments before Char repeated it aloud.

"Of course, of course. There's none finer. Out of curiosity, though, why not Miguel?"

"We're bringing Yzak and Dearka," Athrun chided, "The stealth part of the operation is already in enough jeopardy, isn't it?"

Char laughed. "You'd better not let them hear you saying that. You might be their commander one day, and a leader whose subordinates resent him is no leader at all." The smile slid from Char's face and, in a more somber mood, he added, "Still, it's nice to see you again, Athrun."

"And you, Char. When the Lunar conflict broke out, you were already finished at the Academy. I worried you'd save me nothing to do."

"You flatter me. Commander Le Creuset is the one who did all the heavy lifting."

"He still lost to the Hawk of Endymion, didn't he? What's the man's name, Slugger?"

"Oh I thought it was Flag something. I've never bothered to look into him. Prying into the man who regularly trounces your colleague is considered bad form, I've heard."

"I thought it was called intelligence gathering?"

"Isn't that what I said?"

They shared another laugh as they made their way to the mobile suit bay below deck. To see the two carry on, one might never have expected that they were planning on invading neutral territory. It relieved Athrun greatly to be in Char's presence. He imagined most soldiers felt so; at ease with the man, and worth his time. For Athrun, though, there was more. With him he felt human. Char never seemed to care that Athrun was a Zabi prince, nor that Athrun was a Coordinator, whose body had been altered in vitro. Of course, Char may well have been a Coordinator, too, for all Athrun knew. Many people in the Principality of Zeon were. Either way, Char, already an old friend of Athrun's, reminded him of a friend he had not seen in years.

At this same time, on the Heliopolis Colony, a knock came at the bedroom door of a young man who had slept in well past his alarm. The knocking increased in urgency and force until at last he stirred in his bed.

"Amuro! A-MU-RO!" a young woman on the other side of the door called.

The semi-intelligent-autonomous robot in Amuro's room parroted her cry, "Amuro! A-MU-RO!"

Raising his head from the keyboard on which it had been resting for several hours, and caressing the marks it had left in his cheek, Amuro yawned and muttered a weak, "Coming." He rose from the wooden chair in which he'd been sleeping, noting for the first time how uncomfortable it was, and opened the door to his bedroom.

Dressed in a smart yellow ascot, white stockings, knee-high boots, and a bright red dress with a skirt that was modest to everyone but her mother's eyes, young Frau Bow repeated for good measure, "A-MU-RO!" She blinked in surprise upon realizing the door was already ajar.

"I hear you, I hear you," Amuro complained.

"I can't _believe_ you, Amuro! Asleep at _this_ hour? You know the bus has already left, right?" Frau launched into a tirade about Amuro's lack of concern for the feelings of others as he yawned.

"Bus? What bus?"

"A-mu-ro!" She groaned, stamping her foot, "Did you seriously forget that today is the class trip to the Moergenrate laboratory?"

"Was that today?"

"_Honestly,_ Amuro, for someone who cares so much about mechanical engineering, you sure don't seem concerned with a chance to see it professionally applied! Not that I should be surprised, since _application_ and _applying yourself_ are terms that don't ever enter into that head of yours! Why if you ever-!"

"Come off it, Frau. You're not class rep or anything. You don't need to barge into my house and rant at me."

"_Rant!?"_ Frau cried, thoroughly vexed by Amuro's behavior, "You're not even dressed! You're still-eep!"

"'Eep'?" Amuro asked as Frau's face flushed. It was only then that it dawned on him that he was, indeed, still undressed. "O-out!" He stammered, pushing Frau out of his room and shutting the door behind her.

"Amuro Kira Ray! I have never been so embarrassed in my life!" Frau shouted from beyond the door."

"So embarrassed! So embarrassed!" Haro repeated.

"Shut up, you!" Amuro said, taking a swing at the little robot.

"How dare you!" Frau responded.

"Not _you!"_

Seven minutes passed before Amuro emerged from his room, dressed and ready to go. Haro jumped out behind him and into Frau's arms. She stroked the robot as Amuro grumbled, "Traitor," to it, causing her to stick her tongue out at him.

"Hayato's outside, waiting." Frau said.

"_Joy_." Amuro complained. Hayato was ostensibly a friend of his, and a classmate, but of late the two had grown somewhat apart. The explanation was tedious, but could be boiled down to a single word: _girls._

The ride to the laboratory was both hasty and tense, as neither Amuro nor Hayato were particularly disposed toward talking to one another. Frau tried to make small talk twice, then desisted. She was not going to be able to move either of them to speech. They arrived presently outside the facility and rushed in.

As the trio bolted down the hall, trying to catch up with their class, they collided with a man who was himself running about. After all four collected themselves, Amuro found that the man he'd run down was in fact his father, Tem Ray. Dr. Ray stared blankly at the youngsters, and then, recognition at last setting in, his eyes widened in an expression that none of them could quite read.

"Amuro!" He exclaimed. "Just the person I was looking for!"

"Dad?" Amuro queried, not entirely sure of what to make of his father's reaction.

"Excuse us for a moment, would you, Frau, Hayato? Your class should be just down the hall in the fifth room on the left." Hayato and Frau nodded and stammered thanks as they made off for the classroom. When they were alone, Dr. Ray gripped his son's shoulders and spoke hurriedly. His face became gaunt and pale, and sweat broke out as he spoke. "Now listen to me," he said, "there isn't much time. There are seven, do you hear me? Not six, but seven. No no no, I haven't the time to explain that, it doesn't matter. Oh, what do I do? Dr. Kasshu was taken, and his wife is dead now-."

"Who's dead?" Amuro interrupted.

His father, paying him no heed, said, "They're here, do you understand? _They're here now, Amuro._ They might not even know who sent them, because everything is bigger than any of us expected. Each of the little pieces on the board thinks it is moving of its own volition, but it's too late. Don't you see? It's too late and I've done everything wrong."

"Dad, what are you talking about!?"

"Whatever you do, Amuro," Dr. Ray said, "do not pilot the Gundam. Do you hear me? Do NOT pilot it. That's part of the plan."

"What plan-," Amuro began, but his father merely spun him around and directed him toward his class.

"I've said too much. Remember, Amuro, do not pilot the Gundam. I forbid it, no matter the circumstances!"

Amuro, thoroughly confused, trodded after the rest of his class and away from his father. He knew, of course, what the Gundam was. He'd helped his father with tests before, but he'd never actually piloted it, either. The Gundam was his father's most secret invention, a mobile suit, based on the Gundams of old, which specialized in versatility and adaptability. Why his father would suddenly be so concerned with Amuro riding it was troublesome. All of his behavior worried Amuro more than he really cared to admit.

But the two of them weren't exactly on the closest of terms, either, and so Amuro simply groaned his fears into submission, and soldiered on. He came upon his classmates, partway through a lecture on Morgenroete's research into new energy sources. Bored already, he took stock of his classmates.

Frau Bow was there, as was Hayato Kobayashi. In addition to them, Amuro noted his best friend, Sai Argyle and Sai's girlfriend, Flay Allster. The source of friction between Hayato and Amuro stemmed from this Ms. Allster. A pretty young thing with red hair and the kind of cheerful, perky attitude that helped make girls of her financial station the foes of girls like Frau Bow everywhere throughout the history of humanity, Amuro was rather taken with his friend's girlfriend. Of course, as young Frau was in turn somewhat taken with Amuro, and Hayato in turn for Frau, tensions had stood in that sort of hormone-driven, puberty addled scenario in which most every teen finds them prisoner at one point or another.

Aside from these, Amuro spotted Kuzzy, a shifty, freckled kid who wormed his way into the good graces of more people than most politicians. There were others Amuro knew, and a girl he did not recognize, but none of them really bore his consideration before the explosion.

Exactly seven minutes after Amuro had entered the room, an explosion rocked the entire building. Chaos followed. The staff was shouting, alarms were blaring, and people were herding them every which way. Order was not restored until the roof was blown open and the sight of a Mobile Suit sent everyone running most decidedly in the other direction.

Everyone, of course, except for Amuro. He'd spied the blonde girl running in the direction of the MS, and, not sure why, followed after. His pursuit lead him through several shattered walls and into a hangar he had never before seen in the building. In it, there lay, side by side, four Gundam-class Mobile Suits. There was also a fifth towering above the building, firing from the Vulcan cannons on its shoulders.

Then came the sound of a gunshot. Atop one of the Gundams stood a man who collapsed to the floor. Shaking not ten paces from the doorway in which Amuro stood, was the blonde girl. In her hands was a gun, which she had used to shoot the man. She seemed too stunned to drop her weapon.

"Damn!" exclaimed a man from atop one of the other MSes, "This is all Dearka's fault! The Captain's going to flip over this." He turned, and took note of the two by the door, then raised his weapon. As he did, Amuro ran forward, grabbing the gun from the girl, and rolled in closer for a shot. He acted entirely on instinct, and was surprised when he came near enough to see the man's face.

"Amuro?" asked the Zeon soldier.

"Athrun!?" Amuro exclaimed.

Before either could speak, another gun fired, bullet glancing off the side of the Zeon soldier's helmet. He turned to fire, but as he did, two of the Gundams rose, obscuring his shot. Wasting no time, he made for the cockpit of the third.

Amuro made for the cockpit of the final Gundam. Just then, a Federation soldier blocked his way. She was young, no older than her mid twenties, clearly American, and armed with a general issue sidearm, which she now leveled at Amuro.

"Hold it!" she commanded, her voice less sure of the command than she clearly had wanted it to sound. "This Gundam is property of the Earth."

"They're starting a fight in the colony! We've got to stop them!"

"We? What are you going to do? Pilot the Gundam?"

Dr. Ray's cryptic warning echoed in Amuro's mind, and for a second he considered heeding it. Then, as teenagers are wont to do, he steeled himself, recalling the many things he disliked about his father, and that had driven his mother to divorce him and leave Amuro behind. These in mind, Amuro replied: "That's exactly what I'm going to do."

"Not a chance! I can't just let some kid pilot this!"

"There's no time! When they realize their friend didn't get in this one, they're going to kill us! Are you going to pilot it?"

"Me?" the woman asked, stepping back. "I'm no mech pilot . . ."

"Then move over," Amuro said, pushing passed her and into the open hatch. As it was about to close, she jumped in.

"Still," she said, and not without reluctance, "I can't just let you take it."

"Alright, alright," Amuro said, initiating the start-up sequences.

"Your name?"

"Amuro. Amuro Ray."

"Well, Amuro Ray, seeing as our lives depend on it, I hope you turn out to be the best Gundam pilot there ever was."


	6. Chapter 6: Series List, Etcetera

At the request of one reviewer, what follows is the planned list of series included into this story. I hope to adhere to it, but may adjust as the story demands going forward:

Final Fantasy 4*

Final Fantasy 6*

Full Metal Panic! (Includes The Second Raid and Sigma)

Martian Successor Nadesico

Eureka Seven

Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann

Rebuild of Evangelion

Mobile Fighter G Gundam

King of Braves Gao Gai Gar (includes Final)

The Big O (includes second season)

Code Geass (includes R2)

Mobile Suit Gundam Wing

Mobile Suit Gundam*

Mobile Suit Gundam SEED*

Zoids New Century Zero

*The marked series, FF4&6, and MSG&MSGS are somewhat unique in that their stories are blended and amalgamated. Thus, the Emperor Charles Britannia of Code Geass becomes Emperor Gestahl Baronia, filling in the roles of Charles Britannia, Gestahl, and the King of Baron. Likewise, Ghiren Zabi and Patrick Zala become Patrick Ghiren Zabi, and Amuro Ray and Kira Yamato become Amuro K. Ray. Terra Branford fills simultaneously the roles of Rosa Farrel and Rydia, while Cecil Harvey fills in for Locke Cole, and Celes Chere and Kain Highwind share a spot as well.

I acknowledge that the Super Robot series may seem lesser in number or importance to the plot at times, but will endeavor to use them in a way that fits my plans for the story while also granting them sufficient screen time.


	7. Chapter 7: Terra Branford

_**Earth Sphere, Kiev region, Soviet Imperial Territory.**_

_**0700h local time, three days after Narshe.**_

When Cecil came to, he was surprised and not a little disoriented. Surprised, first and foremost, to find that he was alive and that his whole body was in one piece, as evidenced by the dull ache that enveloped it. Surprised, second, that he was not in chains, but rather in soft cotton pajamas and beneath a woolen blanket, his head resting on a soft pillow. Wherever this was, it was no Soviet gulag.

His wounds had been treated, and while he was sore, and stiff, his body had survived largely undamaged. He was disoriented, though. How long had it been? Where was he? What had happened to-!

Pilot Six! Where was she? Where were Biggs, Wedge, and Celeste? Had anyone else made it out alive? The last he remembered was the Gundams fighting. Had the Arm Slaves retreated by then? What was that facility? The more he thought about what had happened, the more his head had hurt. Pilot Six had come into contact with that thing in the ice, and then everything had gone mad.

No, that wasn't quite right. Things had been mad before that point. Cecil considered the mission more carefully, and no matter how he turned it over, there had been only one point to that mission: to terminate one or more members of the team, and of course the team as a whole. The mission had always been a suicide mission. There was no way Imperial intelligence had failed to realize that Russia's _Bolt Gundam_ was stationed there. The explosion of Yamsk-10 had been meant from the start to draw out the Bolt. Magitek Armor was skilled, there could be no doubt, but even four MAs, three of which were customized, could not hold out against an army of Savage-class ASes and a Gundam-class MF.

But who? Cecil's thoughts went first to Kefka, who was certainly violent enough to set something like this up, but then what of Pilot Six? She was his prized possession. He surely would have known that she would not have returned from that mission, even if she hadn't come into contact with whatever was in that laboratory. The Emperor, for all that he had grown distant, could never have done this to Cecil, either. The man might never trust him again, and at this stage Cecil felt the same, but he would not waste his time on such subterfuge. Perhaps one of the Princes? But why?

There were too many angles. It could have been someone hoping to off Pilot Six, himself, Celeste, hell, for all he knew it might have been to kill Biggs or Wedge. The whole mission as an obvious set-up, though, and the King of the World's Fifth had given the order to burn a city to the ground. Cecil knew that Celeste had been ordered to do something like this before, but he could not accept it, not having seen it with his own eyes. Even know the flames and screams of Narshe echoed in his ears, and they mingled with the cries of the Mysidians.

It was too much! How could the empire he had served all his life, the King who had raised him like a son, have let this happen? Had this been what happened in Area 11? Was this the true face of Baronia, the crown he had polished all his days? Was that shine the stain of blood, the glisten the fuselage of Knightmare Frames and Magitek Armors?

What a fool he had been! To trust so blindly, to allow so completely such evils to happen. To imagine himself a prince on a white steed, carrying the wisdom of the Kingdom of Light to all the world. What a foolish, childish dream! There were no princes, and no Kingdom of Light. Not in this day and age.

Cecil was removed from these thoughts as a mechanical door whirred open.

"Oh, you're awake!" exclaimed a man. He looked to be somewhere between forty and fifty, with dark brown hair parted down the middle, hanging in a way that suggested it had once been a bowl cut. He dressed in a blue lab-coat, khakis, and a conservative red shirt. "How are you feeling?"

"Like Hell," Cecil admitted. "Where am I?"

"Ah, of course. Allow me to explain! I am Doctor Steve Toros, and this is my ship, the Hover 'Cargo. We're a crew participating in the Fight. And you, my friend, are a soldier of the Baronian Empire, am I right?"

"How did you-?"

"Your accent, for one," Dr. Toros said. It was only then that Cecil noted that Dr. Toros himself spoke with an accent he could not quite pin down. He wagered from the name, though, that the man was perhaps from the Mexican States of the American Union. "But also your mech."

"My mech is not a Knightmare Frame, though."

"No, that's true, but the _Red Wings_ model has been in the news for several days now, since the events in Mysidia." Dr. Toros raised a hand to calm Cecil before he could speak. "I'm not here to judge you. There will be plenty of time to worry about that after you've recovered, my friend. Ah! Speaking of, your friend is doing well, too. You can see her as soon as you're able to stand."

"Celeste?!" Cecil stammered.

"Why no, unless I'm mistaken, the young lady introduced herself as Terra."

Cecil did not know the name, but he made a guess, "A few years younger than myself, green hair?"

"Yes, that's right. Can you stand now? I'll take you to her, if you'd like."

Cecil's stomach turned for a moment, then he accepted. "Yes, take me to her."

Dr. Toros helped Cecil to his feet, and then out of the room and down the hall and to another. The Hover 'Cargo was not by any means a particularly luxurious ship, but compared to the military ships and lifestyle Cecil had hitherto known, it was spacious and comfortable beyond counting. He tried not to stare as they walked.

When they opened the door to the room, Cecil got his first good look at Pilot Six, the girl named Terra.

She was perhaps the plainest woman he had ever seen. Cecil, raised in the Court of the King of the World's Fifth, was used to women with extravagant hair styles, magnificently bombastic dresses, surgically augmented bosoms, and a dazzlingly array of cosmetics, and cosmetic enhancements. Each and every one of them was a tapestry, a painting, a symphony, a positively stupefying piece of artwork and testament to the thousands of years of cosmetic sciences which women had engineered in the pursuit of absolute beauty.

Consequentially, each and every one of them was more false than the last. Indeed, never before had Cecil felt such hatred for the painted women of the House of the King. Not a one of them escaped the instantaneous rage that coursed through his subconscious. None of the whores known as Queens and Empresses and Consorts. Not even the Lady Marion, who had been the jewel of the King's life. Not his daughters. Not that wretched and cold Cornelia, not her pious and sanctimonious sister Euphemia, and not any of that other gaggle of clucking hens. Not even, in that moment, his dear Celeste.

This woman, though, this "Terra," sat stripped of the jewels and paints which Charles G. Baronia and his world had adorned her. A young thing, no more than eighteen, not even finished growing, slender, her bosom hidden almost entirely by the shapeless night-gown in which she was dressed, her hair, still brilliant green, hung at the sides of her head in the messiest, sloppiest of ways, her eyes bleary from slumber, her face bandaged in several places, her lips thin and unattractive. Indeed, she was as ugly as a girl of her age could get without gaining several tons and losing all her teeth.

Yet the more he stared at her, and all this happening in yet the same instant as he first laid eyes upon her, the more he could not look away. The more he could not deny that she was beautiful. In a better state of mind he might have clarified that she would be beautiful, given time and a good amount of health, but as he was, he could not help but think her beautiful. Her eyes were the deepest shade of violet, her skin, where it was not cut or bandaged, looked smoother than polished steel. Her body looked as if she had not eaten, but then, given the hell they'd just passed through, he could only find her more attractive for it.

It was not beauty in the sense a man normally considers it, but the beauty of a diamond discovered yet in the mine. The potential, the danger, the sense of blood pumping in one's ears, the fluttering of the heart, the turning of the stomach. Filled as he was with hatred for all of Baron at that moment, Cecil could not bring himself to tarnish the girl in his eyes.

"Good morning, Ms. Branford," the doctor said, "Your friend here is awake, and, well, I'll leave you two to talk." Doctor Toros produced a chair and helped Cecil into it before excusing himself from the room.

For a full minute, they only stared at one another, neither one willing to speak. Cecil sat unsure of what to say, and Terra, for her part, remained emotionless as she stared into his face. It was she who broke the silence, though. When she did, her voice was hoarse, as if she had been screaming for a long, long time.

"I know you." She said.

Cecil, not sure how to reply to this, only affirmed, "Yes, you do."

"You are a captain, aren't you? I have seen you at the King's Court."

"Well, yes. I was _your_ captain recently."

"Yes. You are my captain." Then she twitched slightly and asked, "What are your orders, now?"

"Orders? I—let's not think in terms of orders now."

"I don't understand."

"Doesn't it bother you? What we did? It bothers me. It bothers me."

"It does not." Terra answered, her voice hardening. "We followed orders."

"But we killed those people!"

"Yes, we killed them."

"And you don't feel anything about that?"

"Feel?" She blinked, then said, "I don't feel anything. I followed orders."

"And if someone ordered you to kill those people again, would you?"

"Are you ordering me to kill someone, captain?"

"No! I'm asking if you would kill anyone just because you were ordered to!"

"Orders are to be obeyed, aren't they?"

"And if you were ordered to kill yourself? Could you do that?"

"Yes."

"Would you _want_ to?"

She blinked again, and then, after a maddening pause, asked, "What do you mean, 'want'?"

Cecil groaned, then slumped back in his chair. "Nevermind. We don't even know each other."

"I know you," Terra repeated.

"No you don't."

"Yes I do," she insisted. "You are Lord Captain Cecil Harvey of the Baronian Red Wings, Dark Knight, and adopted son of the King, His Majesty, Emperor Charles Gestahl Baronia."

"And who are you?" Cecil asked.

"I am Terra Branford."

"That's it? Not going to mention that you're Kefka's consort? Most women would."

At the mention of the name Kefka, the girl's face showed emotion for the first time. Fear, abject and raw, flashed across her features, and she recoiled as if she had been slapped. She began to shake as she asked, "What is a consort?"

"Something like a friend," Cecil said, worried for the girl.

"I am not Kefka's friend!" the girl shrieked. She leapt from her bed and beat Cecil's chest impotently. Sore as he was, the girl's strength seemed absent, and she could not do more than strike him weakly as she alternated between sobs and screams of "Go away!" and "It's not true!"

Cecil, unsure of what to do, forced the girl off of him and, expending more strength than he thought he had, forced her back onto her bed. Her body kept shaking as she wept.

"We killed them all," she whispered. "Those were my orders. Orders must be obeyed. But now I feel so _wrong._"

"We killed them all," Cecil said. "Those were our orders, and we obeyed them. And that was wrong."

The door opened, and a young woman with long hair ornaments burst in. "I heard shouting!" she exclaimed, looking at Terra, and then, to Cecil, "What did you say to her? Do you know this girl?" Cecil opened his mouth to respond when the woman said, "Then you know she was under a Slave Crown. Poor thing had it on for God only knows how long! Her memories and emotions are a trainwreck. I knew you Baronians were jerks, but that takes the cake."

_A Slave Crown!?_ Cecil thought. Slave Crowns were the lowest form of torture. The Earth Federation and Colonies alike had outlawed them almost as soon as they'd been invented. Originally conceived of as a new and non-chemical alternative to truth serums, the Slave's Crown robbed the wearer of the capacity to refuse commands. Ignoring the way such a simple metallic circlet could wreak untold havoc in the world, they had been outlawed for the simple fact that extensive usage of one could cause serious trauma to someone's mind, usually leaving them unable to react emotionally or forgetting things for a short period of time. The longer someone wore the Crown, the longer these effects lasted.

Cecil tried to speak again, but the woman already had him on his feet and out the door. "That's it, mister soldier. Out you go. Terra needs her rest, and I'm not letting the kind of people who'd put a Slave Crown on her head anywhere near her!"

The door shut and locked behind him, and a confused and weary Cecil stood with nothing to say. Below him, in the Hover 'Cargo's meeting room gathered the rest of its crew. Dr. Toros was seated at a table in the corner, playing with two model _Zoids_. Zoids being a class of animal shaped mecha used almost exclusively in the Fight. Records of their inclusion dated back almost to the Fight's beginning, but most Zoids were considered a second generation of Mobile Fighters, and as Dr. Toros' favored kind of athletic mecha, they were the staple on the ship.

At the table in the center of the room, on which was a screen displaying the terrain around the Hover 'Cargo, sat the other three crew members. The first was the Hover 'Cargo's chief pilot and an apprentice mechanic to Dr. Toros: Jaime Hemeros. He was the youngest member of the crew, at no more than fifteen, but knew how to pilot a Zoid of his own. Opposite him sat the veteran fighter for the team: Brad Hunter, a man with shaggy hair and a dour disposition that did not make him a favorite at parties. Between them sat the newest member of the team, one Bit Cloud, who, previously a junk dealer, had recently filled an opening left by Dr. Toros' son, Leon.

Although Jaime was trying to discuss the upcoming battle strategy against their scheduled foe, the Ukrainian Mammoth Gundam, Bit and Brad seemed more concerned discussing the recent arrivals aboard the ship.

"I don't trust him," Brad said. He'd been in a bad mood since hearing that Cecil had woken up.

"You don't trust anyone, though," Bit complained.

"Says who?"

"Me. You didn't trust me a few weeks ago, either."

"I don't normally trust thieves."

"I wasn't stealing! I was borrowing!"

"Whatever. This is different. He's Baronian military, isn't he? That's Magitek Armor down there in the hangar, doc."

"Yeah, ain't it impressive?" Bit asked, "Doc managed to repair two suits that are top secret military weapons!"

"It's stupid is what it is," Brad pointed out, "What if they decide to get in them and torch us?"

"And do what?" Dr. Toros asked, "Start an explosion this close to a registered Battle site in Soviet territory, so far away from their home? They'd never make it out of here alive."

"You seem sure of that."

"Don't you watch the news, Brad? That's Magitek Armor in the hangar."

"Yeah, I know. I said that."

"The same suits were behind the sack of Mysidia."

"You think they did something here, too?"

"Isn't it obvious? Our match gets canceled the day before we fight the Bolt Gundam, the Russians won't let us anywhere near the place, and we find that red Magitek Armor dragging the black one through the snow, unable to even stop."

"You think they picked a fight with the Bolt Gundam?"

"Why else would the Russians pass up a chance to fight us? Team Toros is hardly a high ranking team, and against a Soviet-made Gundam we'd be slim pickings."

"Which is why we should be planning for the up-coming fight!" Jaime cut in. "The Mammoth Gundam might not be the Russian's, but it's still part of the Soviet Empire. We don't stand a chance without a good strategy!"

"Here's the strategy," Bit said, "I go in with the Liger Zero, Strike Laser Claw this thing in the face, and we make these Ukrainians look like a bunch of chumps. Easy money, no?"

"That's your plan?" Jaime moaned. "We're doomed."

"If we live that long," Brad started in again. "We've seen the faces of two undercover Baronian military, as well as their Magitek Armor, which Doc has since taken the liberty of examining. They'll kill us to keep their secrets, you can be sure."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Dr. Toros put absently, "The girl had a Slave Crown on. I don't think she's that loyal to the Emperor if that's the case."

"Oh great, because mental instability is so much safer."

"And the young man doesn't seem the type to kill us for the sake of secrets. I have high hopes for him."

"Doc!" Bit whined, "You're not looking to replace your ace already, are you?"

"Not at all, Bit." Dr. Toros assured him, "But having two suits of Magitek Armor on our team would give us an incredible edge, don't you think?"

"You can't be serious, doc," Brad scoffed, "If we use Baronian pilots—and that's a mighty big if—the Empire'd find out in a day and we'd be facing the Knights of the Round, and not just some Russian Gundams."

"What a negative view of things," Doc said, "We only need to disguise their suits and illegally register them as MFs. Nothing to it, really."

"Oooh, doc," Bit cooed, "that's so underhanded of you! I like it!"

"Plus, they're really cool looking, don't you think?"

"That's your real reasoning, isn't it?" Jaime complained.

Dr. Toros' phone began to ring before he could defend his position. He answered it, and after a brief conversation, excused himself, saying, "Leena's booted our young Baronian friend from the girl's room. I'd better go and see what's up."

Ten minutes later, he found Cecil Harvey staring out at the countryside, gazing at nothing in particular. The doctor did not speak as Cecil explained himself. He only provided a much-needed audience for thoughts pressing to be spoken.

"I've known for a while now, to be honest," Cecil began. "That the Empire was not what I believed it, and that the Emperor not who I believed him. I did not want to believe that I knew, but I did. His Majesty has grown voracious, his desire for power and for war are only matched by the apathy he displays for both once he has acquired them. Gone is the man who took me in and raised me as his own. Who had time for an adopted son amongst so many trueborn.

"At his request, I took up the dark sword, and became his Dark Knight. The sword who would lead his men through hellfire and bloodshed for the glory of our people. When that was no longer enough, I learned to pilot a Knightmare Frame, and then Magitek Armor. How naïve, I was, to think that that was all it would take to please him.

"But pleasing him meant the world to me. He is the only father I have, and as one of many of his children, and not a legitimate one at that, his attention and his praise were things I desired dearly. So dearly, indeed, that for him, I pledged to do anything.

"When he asked me to raze Mysidia to the ground, to slaughter its people and steal their treasure, I did it. I had reservations. I'd heard about Area Eleven, and before my eyes a scene of similar circumstances played out, save it be the blood was on my hands this time. My faith was shattered, but I could not admit it.

"And because I could not admit it, I went to Yamsk-10, to Narshe, and killed it as it slept. I murdered countless Russians, regardless of who they were, while they were sleeping in their beds, and I did it because that man asked me to do it."

Cecil turned to face Dr. Toros, tears in his eyes, he said, "What am I supposed to do now? The worst part is that I did it all myself, of my own volition. That girl, Terra, she's killed as many, if not more than I, but never once of her own decision. That's the kind of man I am. I've served the people who would do that to her freely, and I never lifted my hand against them. What sort of man does that make me?"

"The sort of man it made you," Dr. Toros replied after a short pause, "would rightly be called a monster by many." He sighed, and added, "But if you ask me, you're asking the wrong question. You know what sort of man you _were._ The question of what sort of man you _are_ is determined by what you do next. So, Mister . . . ."

"Harvey, Cecil Harvey."

"Well, Mr. Harvey," Dr. Toros said, placing a paternal hand on Cecil's shoulder, "What are you going to do now? Who are you going to be? If you were wrong, what are you going to do to fix that?"


	8. Chapter 8: What I Want

_Thirty Miles Outside Kiev, Ukraine, Official Fight Site #3371_

_Scheduled Battle: Kiev's Mammoth Gundam vs Toros Team's Liger Zero_

_2000h, local time._

To call it a Gundam seemed foolish. The towering mechanical monstrosity was more Mammoth than Gundam. It had the iconic crest and the upper half of a Gundam's face, but the rest was just a reconstruction of a wooly mammoth, wrought of Soviet steel. It lumbered frantically as the Liger Zero, a smaller, white, feline mech danced circles around it, like a sabertooth nipping at its foe's legs.

From the Hover 'Cargo's foreward balcony Terra Branford watched the battle unfold. The Gundam, such as it was, clipped the Liger with its trunk, sending it tumbling away. As she stared, Terra's mind drifted from the present battle to another, not so long ago.

Seven months ago her Slave's Crown had been removed for a brief period of time. She remembered precious little of the actual moments at that time, but the emotions were a sharp, brilliant point in a lifetime of numbness. Someone had embraced her, held her in his arms as she'd shrieked, screamed, and bitten—the removal of the crown often having such side effects, making the repressed thoughts and emotions generated during the time of use flood back at once. His face, though, she remembered as clearly as anything she had ever seen.

Crown Prince Odysseus Eu Baronia III had the most gentle and loving expression she had ever known. Regal in a sense no other royal she had met, killed, or served had ever been. To describe him in terms understandable to most was a task beyond her at that time. When most people saw the Crown Prince and Heir to the World, they saw a tall, broad man, of temperate disposition and impeccable fashion sense. What cause for cruelty could there be in a man who had never, ever known any?

But to Terra, it was his eyes, not his upbringing, which had held meaning to her. There was mercy in them, which thing she had never before beheld. In his hands there was no force, but rather, the softest caress she had ever known. On his tongue no commands, no orders, but the soothing sounds of a man who felt only the purest of sympathy. His knee had broken the Crown in twain, and his shoulders accepted her tears and his hand her teeth with superhuman humility.

Odysseus had lifted her to her feet, and, seeing her garments torn from the madness she had undergone, dressed her with his own cloak—an act she would one day learn was considered licit only between lovers in Baronian courts, and was highly inappropriate for the Crown Prince to do for a woman of her social stature. At the time, she only knew that it was warm, and that it comforted her.

Odysseus had commanded his attendants that she be cleaned, dressed, and brought to his office afterward. When this was done, the Prince took her with him to see the sights in the Capital. They had spent the day in awe of the many wondrous things there, and even now, she treasured most the moment he had taken her to a Petting Zoo, where she held so many warm, fuzzy, and harmless creatures that she became overwhelmed with joy.

What no one had expected, though, was that His Royal Highness, King Charles Gestahl Baronia, would invite himself to dinner that evening. The King had seen the girl, and over his face came an expression she did not yet know—guilt. It was not the King, however, who soured these happy moments.

In tow came the monster she feared most in all the world: Lord Kefka Palazzo. Kefka, furious at having been deprived of his favorite toy for an entire day, demanded of Prince Odysseus that he return the girl, who was his rightful property. Absolute terror engulfed her then, and she turned to see the Crown Prince's reaction. To his credit, the Prince refused the Clown's request. The King dismissed Kefka, and for the moment, things seemed decided.

Until that night, when several maids entered the chamber Odysseus had set aside for Terra to sleep in. Paid by Kefka, or threatened by him, or both, they dragged the girl, screaming, from the room, and into his custody in the dead of night.

He awaited her in a miserable cement cell, the kind of which one would never guess that the Imperial Palace held. The door locked behind her, Kefka approached with open arms and knife in hand. Though he acted kindly, his kindness was a farcical imitation of Odysseus, and his every pleasant word dripped with hatred. At last he pushed her into the metal chair bolted to the floor in the center of the room, where he restrained her with leather straps and the knife until a new Slave Crown arrived.

As soon as she laid eyes upon the metal circlet, she screamed. She screamed long and hard, but what she heard was not her voice, but his, as he laughed and danced about the chamber, until at long last he had placed the crown atop her head.

Prince Odysseus had been furious that Kefka had stolen the girl from him, but he had restrained himself at the behest of his brother, Second Prince Schneizel. Schneizel had suggested to the King that the matter be resolved by getting Kefka to wed a woman of a subjugated Area. The King had arranged for a Princess from India to wed Kefka within the week.

Terra, a member of Kefka's personal guard, recalled now the girl's arrival at Kefka's manor in the Capital. She had seemed so demure, had been patient with Kefka's practices, and had made every effort to please all those she met. As one of the only female servants on the premises, Terra had been tasked with waiting on her at night. She had seen the girl cry into her pillow over the horrible new state of life, and, restrained by the Crown, could do nothing, feel nothing, and think nothing.

Then Kefka had brought them both to court, and sat Terra on his right. The girl had been so ashamed! She slapped Kefka across his face, and he laughed that vile laugh of his before barking the kill-command to her. Terra had drawn the knife, her will incapable of resisting the commands, and given chase as the princess fled the court.

She'd pressed past the surprised royals, her face colliding with one shoulder, her own elbow breaking the nose of one of the Emperor's cousins, and thrust her way through the throng beyond the audience chamber's portal. Down the grand hall, she'd almost over-taken the girl when Princes Schneizel and Odysseus had intervened—how they had made it down the stairs before her she was not aware—and taken the Indian princess into their custody.

As Kefka's command had not been rescinded, however, Terra had had no choice but to continue attempting to gut the girl, and so she had fought her way through several ranks of Royal Guards, all of them armored and armed with weapons better than her own knife. What Terra lacked in size, she made up for in skill and speed. Her every waking moment had been spent honing herself to kill these men at Kefka's command. After all, he reasoned, the Imperial Guard were the best in the Earth Sphere, and if she was going to kill the Empire's enemies, she ought to train against the very best.

The guard had gotten the better of her by outnumbering her and herding her outside the Palace's main body. To their great confusion and misfortune, however, Kefka had arranged for one Pluto-class Magitek Armor to be waiting outside the building, and, seeing the chance, she entered its iron embrace, as if the machine were second nature to her. The guards had scattered when the Palace Knightmares had been scrambled.

The next five minutes were a blur, as she urged her machine to slaughter its way through the entire Palace Guard. Now she remembered only screams and the sound of metal tearing through metal. The Pluto-Class carried only a single heat-knife, but in her hands the machine moved in ways that Magitek armor was not yet supposed to be able to move. She made it dance, turned it into a whirling dervish as it sliced through the ones opposing the command she had been given like a knife through cream. In desperation, they had mobilized the Knight of Nine, a member of the elite Knights of the Round, to stop her.

She had lobbed the heat-knife dead into his KMF's chest, rolled, leapt over it, and smashed the cockpit between her hands. Her rampage only ended when Schneizel outmaneuvered Kefka, taking him hostage and ordering her to stand down lest harm befall her. Kefka had begrudgingly repeated the order to her, and she had stood down.

This was the story of her life, she realized. As she watched the Liger hound the Mammoth into a corner and tear at it, piece by piece as its pilot tried more and more desperately to fight back. How far back did this go? When had she begun to work for Kefka? As long as she could recall, he had given her her orders. Before this mission to Narshe it had been Mysidia, and before Mysidia she had put down the insurrection in Area 11. Before that she had taken part in the massacre of Miranda, the Rape of Tzen, when the Empire had wanted to show off to the Soviets, and countless battles before. Her whole life she had been the Emperor's knife.

When Kefka did not come to her, it would be the scientist, Dr. Cid. When he was not the one, it would be the Emperor himself. All three of them would come at different points, and would talk to her. Would say and do things she could not react to because of the Crown. And then, of course, she would rise from her iron throne, enter the embrace of Magitek, and kill whomever they ordered her to kill. In all her life, her only pleasant memories were those of Prince Odysseus, and the petting zoo he had taken her to.

All she had ever done was murder. All she knew was death. And now, as she watched the Fight, something in her moved. The Fight was a mock version of what she had spent her life doing, and she could not understand it. The men she had murdered had always screamed, or begged for something called mercy, but there was none of that here. This struggle held no meaning, and as the Mammoth Gundam toppled to the ground and the robotic Judge declared the Liger Zero the victor, no one died. Indeed, when the fight had ended and the Judge receded, the pilots shook hands.

She could not understand it. Yet inside of herself there was a stirring of _something._ Her chest felt tight, her blood moving more quickly, her face hot and her mouth dry. And then it dawned on her what this strange state was: _feeling._

In the cold of Narshe, the Crown firmly upon her brow, she had approached the icy container, and within it, the milky dragon had spoken to her. Not with a voice, but with a cry, a supplication, a warning all conveyed _emotionally_. It had filled her with an unspeakable dread, and that dread now washed over her as the Liger Zero approached the Hover 'Cargo.

"Not half bad, is he?" someone behind her asked. She started, and turned to see Cecil standing there, a sheepish look on his face. "Bit, I mean. You ought to meet him, he's a nice person, too. A bit headstrong, but kinder than a scrap dealer turned Fighter would be expected to be."

Terra stared, unsure of what to say at first, and frightened, too. Cecil smiled weakly at her, and she took courage from what she guessed might be a sign that he was not angry and had no violent intentions. "He isn't a soldier." She remarked.

"No, no one here is a soldier."

"You are a soldier."

"I was a soldier. Now? Now I don't know."

"You don't know? You were a soldier."

"I was. I was a soldier, but after Narshe, I'm not sure that's what I want anymore."

"What does what you want have to do with it?" Terra asked. No one had ever asked her if she had wanted to fight, they had just told her to do so.

Cecil laughed a frail laugh and said, "Nothing and everything, I suppose. I could go back. I could go back and take up the sword for the Empire again, and they would send me on more missions like the last, and my life would be as it always was, for as long as it lasted. Or I could play dead. The last mission was most certainly meant to kill us, so why not? It weighs on me, what we have done. Perhaps a new start is what I need. No more at the beck and call of this Empire. No more to burn undeserving villages."

"Are there villages that do deserve to be burned?"

"Who can say? I'm not God, that I could judge that."

"God? Who is God?"

Cecil opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again. He frowned a moment, then shrugged and said, "That's a wonderful question. The point is: I don't want to go back, not after what we did. I can't go back. And what I want to know is this: what do you want?"

"What do I want?" Terra blinked at him. "I don't know. What do I want?"

Cecil laughed again, this time more deeply. "You've never been asked this before, have you? Well, let me put it simply: Do you want to go back? To the Emperor, and to Kefka? And to the Baronians who made you fight? Or," he paused, "would you rather leave that?"

"Leave that?"

"God, you're making this hard on me. If you want a new life, free of me and every other memory of those days, I will find one for you; all of Baronia owes you at least that. If you would rather, rather stay with me, though, I will protect you from the Baronians, if they come looking for us."

Terra looked into Cecil's eyes and thought she saw something there that reminded her of Prince Odysseus. It was something . . . sad? Sad, but genuine. Something she could _trust._ So she tried to make her mouth mimic his, and curl into a smile, as she said, "I want to stay with you."


End file.
